Warm Honey Part 2: Shower First OK Cal?
by pjstillnoon
Summary: Sequel to Warm Honey. What happens after they play with the warm honey.


They get out of the bath and Gillian looks back at the crumpled towels, as if she can't quite believe it. She thinks again that she should be embarrassed, she let herself go, in an incredibly intimate way, right in his arms, when they haven't even… and yet, she doesn't. It just feels like the start of something new. Cal takes her hand, as if to guide her from the room, but Gillian stops him, their arms stretching out between them. She's naked, completely naked, and he's in jeans only, darker patches denoting sweat and other fluids. His hair is dishevelled and she can still see the gleam staining his skin. It certainly looks like they have…

A glance to the mirror would tell her exactly how she looks too, but she doesn't care; if it's half as messy as he is, then there's nothing she can do about it anyway. He doesn't seem to by shying away. Cal looks back at her, questioning, but not unsure. She pulls on his hand a little so that he turns his body back towards her, comes closer. His gaze is steady but not intense. "Shower first ok Cal?" She tells him softly. When he comes closer, she can see it might not be sweat on his skin, but something sticky; there is fluff from her towels also on him in colourful patches.

Cal's eyes change then, they glow a little and his mouth gives just the slightest flicker, like it might smile, but it doesn't quite. It changes his face too, makes him softer and warmer. "Made a mess of my jeans," he notes but he doesn't suggest which one of them had done so. Gillian smirks, flat out smirks, at that comment and heads for the shower. Cal doesn't let her fingers go, even as she leans in to turn on the water. When she's back to facing him, she can see he's undoing the button of his jeans with just his left hand. Something stirs low in her stomach and she steps closer to him again, reaching with her hands.

Honestly, she tries not to touch him too much, just focuses on the zipper but she feels him go tense anyway and she thinks 'good', a taste of his own medicine. She's finished in a second and she turns away to let him undress himself. She steps into the stream of water, adjusts the heat to get more. She feels him behind her before he brushes fingers against the back of her neck, the bump of her spine. Then his mouth is there too, lips tender. Gillian feels her skin prickle under his touch, not yet desensitised. She turns, the water at her rear now, and warps her arms around his neck, pushing up on her toes just ever so slightly to bring her mouth to meet his. She kisses him firmly, her body pressed up against his. His hands frame at her waist, bringing her in and she can feel everything of him against her and she thinks again that this should be bizarre, but really, he's practically told her he loves her; she can't imagine him running away now.

Gillian smooths a hand down over his chest and stops when she finds a sticky patch. She draws off the kiss, lowering herself back to rest her full weight on her heels. She really isn't that much shorter than him. There's a mess of matted fluff just above his right nipple and she pushes him into the flow of the water and reaches for soap, to wash the mess off. She can feel his eyes on her, and not just at her face, while she works. How the honey got up there, she doesn't know, but it makes her smile to think about; it was pretty incredible. She finds another streak along a bicep and really, she hasn't realised how muscled he is, despite being lean. Not scrawny, but he isn't a big broad shouldered kind of guy. She isn't complaining.

Cal's hands almost reverently stay at her sides but as she finishes up with a small patch lower on his stomach, beneath his ribs, she realises he is making circles with the pads of his thumbs. His breath is a bit shallower. And how can she not notice he is turned on a little? She keeps moving, sluicing the soapy water away and down, ignoring, no, not reacting yet. But he has done things to her and she wants to return the favour and all she's doing in stalling is figuring out how. He didn't touch her. Not directly. And she thinks there might be rules, reasons why he didn't and why she shouldn't, but he's a guy. How else is she meant to? They're designed differently. So she ditches the soap and wraps her fingers around him slowly, with purpose, getting a good grip and his body responds to her touch. He doesn't knock her hand away, gasps instead and nudges closer towards her; his hands tightening against her flesh.

He gets steadily warmer and bigger, swelling to his full size and Gillian shifts to allow him the room. Her hands slide easily over the soft skin and Cal gives funny little noises in his throat. He's impressive and it makes heat pound through Gillian, even though it was her turn just a moment ago. She wants to put her mouth on him, to really feel him; it excites her. But he didn't do that to her either so she doesn't, because she senses this is a very careful balance of power, of who does what. But Gillian doesn't neglect him just because her tongue is out of the equation. She has him gripping her far too tightly, painfully, and suppressing groans and words, his breath huffing, his hips inadvertently pushing back and forth. It takes something in her to focus, to not want to climb him and ride him hard. It takes some focus to not get distracted by herself, despite the pounding of blood in her own groin. Cal's stamina is impressive, even though she tries really hard, but it only makes the ache in her worse. When they do finally have sex, and she knows they will eventually, probably soon, it is going to completely blow her mind.

As soon as Cal starts, he's crushing her against him, her hands pressing into his stomach and she can feel him hot between them, the water pounding down into her left ear as he kisses her hard. He kisses her again, caresses a hand against her neck, makes the kiss more tender. She can hear him gasping at her other ear, another hand in the small of her back and she's not sure if he's asking her to hold him up or whether he's thanking her. Either feels pretty damn good and then he's pulling away from her, using a firm hand to wash her skin clean this time. It's not sexual, but it still sends a jolt through her. Her cheeks feel warm.

Cal cuts the water off so it's obviously time to get out. Gillian pulls a spare towel from the rack and goes to the cupboard to see what Cal left behind as she wraps it around her body. The thin beach towels are still on the shelf. Gillian pulls one off the top stack and throws it at him. He rubs his face first, his eyes peeking out at her. She can tell he is smiling without even seeing his mouth. She gives a slight laugh back, not sure why, but carefree and fun, and leaves the room. She dries off in her bedroom, pulling on underwear and clean pyjamas; there are red marks where Cal's hands scratched at her.

Cal hasn't followed, so she goes in search of him. He's in the kitchen. He's in his shirt and underwear, not an entirely good look, but he does have nice legs. And he's cooking. He's frying bacon and scrambling eggs and Gillian's stomach actually growls in response. It's not enough for Cal to hear or notice her, he doesn't turn around, but the toaster jumps and when he goes to the fridge for butter he does see her standing there, watching him in her kitchen like he's done this before. He looks over, gives her the once over, making her stomach quibbly, but doesn't say anything.

Gillian crosses the room to get plates from the cupboard and makes tea. It takes longer for the beverages to be complete, than it does for Cal to finish his breakfast food dinner, but he slows down, hesitates and wastes time, waiting for her. They sit at the dining room table and Gillian is really famished. She tucks in and it's not fantastic food but it tastes pretty damn good about now. Better yet, Cal made it for her. So actually, it's pretty nice. Cal sips at his tea, watching her again. It looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't. The mark on his forehead is a bright red now and Gillian thinks he should cover it, let it get a head start on healing before it has to deal with air.

Cal scoops the last of his eggs into his mouth and Gillian thinks that they should really talk. No pressure, but just talk about something. Break the silence. Silence is only good for so long, before it starts becoming awkward. She chews on the last corner of toast, thinks about what she can bring up. She doubts he'll talk about Matheson. Doubts he'll talk to her about handing her the gun and escaping. Where did he go anyway? He didn't seem worse for wear when he knocked on the door, just maybe slightly abashed.

"I put some washin' on," Cal breaks the silence. Gillian looks over at him, one knee up against her chest as she leans back in her chair, her right hand around her mug of tea, damp hair curling around her ear.

"My jeans," he adds. Gillian feels the smile tugging at her lips and then Cal grins a little and she's really smiling. He chuckles and she laughs a little and it's done. Tension broken. Gillian thanks him for the food. He thanks her for the tea. They get up and clear their plates, do the dishes, talking about whether his jeans will go through the dryer ok, or if they should wait up for the cycle to finish so they can be hung. And Gillian realises they're talking about the morning as if he will still be there. It changes the atmosphere between them again and Cal turns to her suddenly. "Can we just go to sleep? Been a hell of a day."

Gillian nods, acquiesces again, because this is what she does; she doesn't push him. Sometimes that works for her, the pushing, when she really gets frustrated by him, sometimes he'll open up to her, but not always when she wants to, and the magic of the honey and the bath starts to fade. She hates to think that he might be using her but it is there, between them, the idea that this isn't real.

Cal puts the lights out in the kitchen and waits for her to lead the way. She goes back to the scene of surprise and finds that the towels are gone from the bath. She can hear the washing machine from this part of the apartment and figures Cal also put her towels in the wash with his jeans. How very domestic of him. How, actually, strangely thoughtful. He comes up behind her as she hesitates in the middle of the room, trying to figure him and his act of cleanliness out.

"Don't want to use that thin towel again tomorrow," he explains at her neck and kisses her there, sending a little shiver through her. Before she can really help it, she's turning against his chest, her arms up and around his neck, kissing him deeper; they've done this exact move before; are they already forming habits? Actually, she's not sure who kisses who, but they're kissing in the middle of her bathroom floor, the tiles cold beneath her bare feet and she really can't help the way she leans into his body, feeling him through much less clothing, and exploring his mouth. Maybe because he's going to stay? Maybe she wants this a lot more than she previously realised.

Cal's hands are firm at her waist, his tongue just as devilish as hers, a cant of his hips and the smell of him washing over her. She really does want this. She breaks it off, flicks her eyes up to his, sees the amusement and delight and tenderness there. His lips are a smirk of a smile. He moves around her to the sink, toothpastes her brush and hands it over, then uses his finger to swirl more paste around his mouth and over his teeth. Gillian watches him while she scrubs; she doesn't have a spare he can use. He's finished before she is, scooping water in his palm to rinse out his mouth and she's watching too closely while she thinks stupid things like how she wants to be the water.

Cal puts a kiss on her cheek before he leaves and she's not sure whether to melt into his arms or laugh. She's torn between delight and ridiculousness. She really, really wants to ask him what it all means, but she's too afraid. And maybe part of her is just curious to see where this goes. She finishes with her teeth, rinses out her mouth too and heads from the room. She half expects him to be in the guest room so when she enters her bedroom and finds him there on the bed, ankles crossed over each other like he freaking does this every day, in nothing but his underwear now, good lord, she is surprised, but she's also not.

Gillian puts out the overhead light and plunges the room into blackness, realising too late that there is no lamp on by the bed. She makes her way in the dark to the mattress, knowing by instinct and walking that distance a thousand times, exactly where the furniture is. She hears Cal climb under the covers when she does and he's in the middle of the bed, right against her, pulling her in against his chest, into his arms, and she goes easily; it's not a compromise.

Cal settles against her with a sigh, a hand in her hair, then against the curve of her neck. "I'm sorry for running out."

Gillian presses a kiss against his jaw; it is still completely dark. But she can feel him so close and his voice is like the whisper of silk against her skin; soft and smooth and cool. He smells minty and his mouth meets hers slowly. "I'm sorry Gill."

She makes a noise, an 'it's ok' in the back of her throat.

"I went to a bar," Cal confesses. "And I met a woman there."

Gillian pulls back a little because this is really _not_ what she wants to be hearing.

"And she asked me who my ideal woman would be, if I could describe her."

Ok, she could listen.

"All I could think about was you."

Definitely listening.

"You're my ideal woman, Gill."

Holding her breath.

Her grip on him is tighter now and she feels things inside that she can't name. She wants to say something back to reassure him that he's on the right track but she can't seem to think of the right words.

"But the question is, am I your ideal man?"

Oh, oh; something is like a lump in Gillian's throat.

"And I think the answer would be, maybe not."

Uh oh. No, she doesn't think that. Does she?

"But," Cal goes on, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that she hasn't responded to anything he's said in the last minute. "Maybe I can't do ideal, Gill, but... I can't do perfect either, but."

"I don't want perfect."

"But maybe I could try?" He sounds like a little kid negotiating for another slice of cake, a trade for doing extra chores. Gillian's about to object to the tone when he goes on again; he doesn't need to convince her. "I know you care for me. I could see that, today, all over you, how scared you were for me and I... I was scared for you too. I want you to know that I care about you too."

Gillian kisses him again, emotion welling up in her, to spill into him. She can tell by the way he kisses her back that he's feeling something too and it's so nice to feel, and know, and understand, that she's not alone in this. She's not. She's not. She won't be. She doesn't have to be. If they do. They will.

This feels really quite epic. Kissing him. In her bed. And talking about things. And feeling the things that are there. Maybe today was scary, no, no maybe, it _was_ scary, but sometimes fear can push, can motivate; it can demonstrate what really does matter. It seems Cal has finally seen her. And god does that feel good.


End file.
